


Regression of the Mean

by lighthouse_stilinski



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Scott, Banshee Lydia Martin, College, College Student Scott, College Student Stiles, Future Fic, Gen, Hurt Stiles, Nemeton, Pack Dynamics, Pack Feels, Post-Nogitsune, Post-Nogitsune Stiles Stilinski, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Scott McCall & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Self-Harm, Sleepwalking, Stiles Has Panic Attacks, Stiles-centric, Stydia, Witches, mentions of suicide in later chapters, post 5A
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-30
Updated: 2016-05-13
Packaged: 2018-05-30 03:24:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6406681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lighthouse_stilinski/pseuds/lighthouse_stilinski
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Years after the events of the Dread Doctors, Stiles and Scott have learned how to live normal lives again. But nothing is really normal because, when it comes to the pack, the scale usually tips to really bad. </p><p>**An alternate version of 5B exists is this fic.**</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

 

> **Now:**

  
A kind of silence only reserved for the dead washes over the room, and Stiles can’t help but feel as though this has all happened before. He watches the others tentatively, but none of them will look him in the eye.The colors in the room begin to change from pinks and oranges to a dull gray. It’s becoming darker, which means that the night is quickly taking the place of the evening. There is no more time.

Stiles wipes his face onto the sleeve of his jacket, smearing crimson into the faded blue fabric. An all too familiar sensation of tightness crawls into his chest, and his lungs begin to scream for air. This isn’t what they had planned.

He wishes that he could go home. He wishes that this wasn't real. Most of all, he wishes that he were the body lying on the ground before him.

His pulse quickens. His heart pounds. There’s blood on the ground. It’s on his hands. It’s on his face. It’s in his hair-- from the struggle, from uneasy fingers pulling at his scalp. The situation hasn’t quite registered yet, and he knows somewhere in the back of his mind that he’s in shock. _Just breathe, Stiles._

He crouches down and presses shaking fingers to the body’s neck and feels nothing. Seconds pass... then minutes, and still nothing. Stiles begins to feel himself choke as the invisible thread that the last four years has intricately weaved begins to take hold of the remainder of his sanity.

“We should go,” Malia whispers. No one makes any attempt to move.

“We can’t just leave him here,” Scott says.

“What we need to do is call the cops,” Mason demands.

Stiles covers his ears and crashes to the ground. His father cannot know. He cannot find out. He squeezes his eyes shut and vaguely realizes that there are tears pouring from his clenched eyelids.

The pale stench in the air of the warehouse is distracting. He tries desperately to make some sense of what’s happening. He doesn’t understand, but he knows this can’t be happening. This can’t be happening.

Suddenly, there’s a hand on his shoulder. And Stiles wants to ignore it, but he can’t. Because he knows who it is, and he can’t ignore it. He feels his breaths come in and out with shorter and shorter intervals, but he can do nothing to stop them.

“Stiles?” A soft voice runs through his ears as the presence before him removes the hands that he’s used to cover his ears.

“Stiles, come on, man,” Scott pleads, but he refuses to open his eyes.

No, _no_ this is not okay. Nothing about this is okay. There’s a dead body. A _dead_ body. _Why is there a dead body...?_

More tears cover his face and mix with the dry blood on his cheeks. _I did this? Did I do this?_ Stiles tries to breathe. He can no longer hear the distant voices of his friends, and he wonders if they’ve given up on him.

Despite the endless chaos, the world suddenly becomes quiet. His thoughts are loud and twisted, but now, no one makes a sound. He wonders if they can hear it. If the friends gathered around him can hear the echoes of his mind as the voices of the past pound against his skull, just begging to be free. To be released into the open air and mesh with the scene of death.

He also wonders if their minds are just as full of debilitating thoughts as his. He wonders if the questions play in their minds over and over just as they do in his. _What have I done?_

And then his eyes snap open and he’s watching his friends again. The four of them kneel around him but seem to be worlds away.

Lydia reaches forward and touches one of Stiles’ shaking hands.

“What do we do?” He asks.

No one answers. Stiles can barely remember how they got to there, back in the abandoned warehouse. He can’t seem to understand why there’s a dead body on the ground-- why he’s covered in blood.

He can only register one thing: Liam, the only one to have realized the truth, is nowhere to be found.

 

 

 

> **22 Days Ago:**

Scott and Stiles sat atop the same cliff as usual. The cloudless day left ample room for the sun to shine upon their hometown of Beacon Hills, and the boys were content to sit and enjoy the view on a particularly warm summer day. The two had grabbed ice cream on the way to their own little view of the world, and Scott couldn't help but admire his best friend as Stiles happily licked away at his cone, eyes focused on the place he called home. 

It had been a while since Scott had seen Stiles so... alive. Although the days of fighting supernatural beings had come to an end when the nemeton was destroyed their senior year of high school, the past few years had been far from easy. Scott and Stiles had decided after graduation that they would room together at college, and the close contact had the reality of Stiles' mental condition come crashing down on Scott. He watched as his best friend, his brother, began to tear himself apart from the inside-out. Depression hit Stiles like a brick wall, and Scott was pretty sure that Stiles suffered from an amount of post-traumatic stress far greater that his own.

Scott had seen Stiles up close-- had seen what he was doing to himself-- but he felt so far away, like there was nothing he could do but wait for his friend to dig out of the grave that he had dug for himself. It was like Stiles was made out of glass that teetered on the edge and constantly on the verge of falling. It made Scott uncomfortable, and he tried desperately to get Stiles to seek help. But Stiles would flash a smile and claim that he was okay. That he would figure a way out of his ever-growing pool of problems. Scott continually worried that he wouldn't be able to find a way.

Much to Scott's relief, it seemed as though Stiles had finally been able to do it. He found a way out of the darkness that his mind had created. The night terrors that had Scott sitting beside his best friend for hours on many nights had finally ceased, and it was almost-- _almost_ \-- unnerving for Scott to eventually drift off into an uninterrupted sleep when it seemed as though Stiles had drifted off into a sound sleep himself. Scott no longer came back to the room to find Stiles wrapped up in himself in the corner, blood running down his forearms while something sharp that shined with crimson lay on the ground. Stiles no longer had to leave classes when the feeling of overwhelming panic rose in his chest and threatened to explode in front of his classmates.

Somehow, something had shifted in Stiles' brain in the past few months, but Scott was not one to complain. He was just happy that Stiles was happy. He wondered if his friend had come to some grand realization about the world and how it's not as terrible as it might seem. He also wondered if it was because he had started talking to Lydia Martin again for the first time practically since graduation. Stiles didn't really tell Scott about that, but Scott kind of picked up on it from the amount of texts and phone conversations he had with the girl daily. Mostly, Scott knew (even though Stiles would never admit it) that Stiles was attending weekly therapy sessions. He always came up with some sort of lame excuse ("Whoa, I totally forgot I left my laundry in the washing machine!") every week on Wednesdays at 3 o'clock when both of them normally have nothing to do. Stiles would come back promptly an hour later with a quizzical look on his face and an eagerness to talk about some deep life topic. This, Scott had to admit, was one of his favorite parts of the week.

So, as the two of them sat on the top of their cliff on a sunny summer day after their third year of college, Scott couldn't help but feel grateful to have his best friend back. Of course, there was no denying that on occasion Stiles' eyes would become fixated on some imaginary thing in the distance, which signified that he was either remembering a piece of the past that he didn't particularly want to or that the world, if only for a moment, was threatening to come crashing down once again. But at that moment, Stiles smiled into his ice cream cone, basking in the glory that was Beacon Hills. The place might have once been riddled with death and creatures that they previously couldn’t even imagine in their wildest dreams to exist, but even Scott had to admit that the place they grew up in was pretty cool.

They sat in silence for some time, which they had both become accustomed to and often quite enjoyed, and Stiles finally shifted his gaze from the town below to the friend sitting next to him.

"What's with that stupid grin?" Stiles asked. He, too, had a sideways smirk on his face, but it was just so Stiles-like that it made Scott's smile even wider.

"What's with _your_ stupid grin?" Scott bantered. He then proceeded to lean forward and steal a lick from Stiles' ice cream cone, enjoying the flavor of raspberry swirl as it hit his tongue. Stiles frowned at his cone and looked at Scott accusingly.

"Hey! Whoa, not cool, bro!" Stiles leaned in to return the favor, but Scott pulled his own cone away before he could. Stiles stood to get closer, and Scott hopped off of the ground to get out of reach. Stiles started waving his free hand through the air in an attempt to swat Scott's ice cream to the ground. "Dude, not fair!"

Scott laughed and began to run away from his best friend, cradling his ice cream cone so as to not let it fall to the ground on his own accord. He turned and stopped dead in his tracks when he saw that Stiles' expression had changed to that of bewilderment. His eyes shifted, and Scott hoped that he wasn't reliving some awful memory of being possessed or tortured or anything else unpleasant. He jogged back to where his friend stood, and Stiles made eye contact.

"Did you hear that?" Stiles asked. Scott immediately felt a rush of relief run through his body. Stiles looked around, and Scott followed suit.

"Hear what?" Scott asked. Stiles continued to look around, a little more frantic than the moment before.

"What do you mean?" Stiles said. There was panic in his voice, and Scott mentally kicked himself for letting his guard down so quickly. "You're the werewolf. You should be able to hear this better than I do! Like, way better!"

Scott looked around a moment more, but he was almost certain that whatever Stiles was hearing was in his head. He placed a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Look at me, Stiles. I don't hear anything. Hey, listen to me. You're-" Scott didn't get the chance to finish consoling his friend because in an instant Stiles used his free hand to swiftly knock Scott's ice cream out of his grasp. It flew through the air and hit the ground with a resounding _splat._ Stiles doubled over with laughter.

"Seriously?" Scott asked. He raised his own hand and, even though Stiles knew this was coming, Scott smacked his own ice cream cone to the ground. He didn't think he would ever have to use his were-wolf speed ability to rid his own best friend of ice cream, but there was a first time for everything. Stiles stared incredulously at his half-eaten dessert as it lay in a mess of dirt and grass. He pointed a finger at Scott.

"You started this, McCall," he said. Scott shook his head, and the two of them broke out into uncontrollable laughter. Even at the age of twenty-one, they still had time for idiotic shenanigans.

They sat in the grass again, both silently cursing themselves for no longer possessing edible ice cream. Moments passed, and as the sun started to become lower in the sky, coloring the atmosphere with pinks and golds, Scott couldn't help but feel a little nostalgic.

"You heard from Liam at all?" Stiles asked. Scott felt slightly guilty at the asking of this question. Although Liam was the only one out of his once-existing pack to have been actually bitten by Scott, he had let the lines of contact between him and the younger boy come to an undeniable end.

"No, not really," he responded. But, in reality, he knew he hadn't spoken to Liam for months. "He should be home, though. Maybe I'll catch up with him at some point this summer."

Stiles nodded. Scott knew that he understood what it was like to cut ties with people, though not purposefully sometimes. He turned to look at the large oak tree that he and Stiles had chained Liam to on the full moons when he wasn't quite in control of himself yet. Scott missed the guy. He missed the whole pack, actually, and he wondered how and when it had just become Scott and Stiles again.

"How's Lydia?" Scott asked. Stiles immediately lit up, and a huge smile ran across his face.

"I hear she's good," Stiles replied. Scott rolled his eyes.

"Come on, I know you talk to her all the time," Scott said.

"What? You do?" Stiles said. His voice was filled with more surprise than Scott expected.

"Why else would you smile at your phone when you get a text? Also, I have hyper-sensitive hearing, remember? I know you guys call each other practically every day," he said. Stiles looked a bit sheepish.

"Okay, fine," he admitted. "Yeah, we've been talking. And she's really good. I think she might come home for a bit in a few days." Lydia had hardly been back to Beacon Hills since they graduated high school. She became wrapped up in studying at Stanford and spent most of her summers there.

"Will you guys see each other?" Scott asked.

"I hope so," Stiles said. "I miss her." Scott smiled at his best friend and slapped a hand on his shoulder reassuringly. The sun continued to get lower in the distance, and the two decided to call it a night and head back into town.

They jumped into Roscoe (how that thing was still running, Scott had no idea), and were on their way. Stiles dropped Scott off at his house before returning home himself.

***

Stiles was used to his dad waiting for him to come home, and he wasn't blind to the look of relief that washed over the older man's face as he watched Stiles walk through the door. It had been a long three years of being watched like a hawk by everyone around him, and Stiles was practically used to it. It bothered the hell out of him, but he was practically used to it. He was pretty sure that his dad kept tabs on him at school and whenever he wasn't home by texting Scott. Who the hell else would he be with? He was also pretty sure that Scott was in his dad's speed dial in case of emergency. But that's fine, he guessed.

On this evening, though, when he walked through the door he was not greeted by his father. His dad had warned him that morning that he would probably be at the station late due to a case that needed the help of as many officers as possible. As usual, he didn't share the details with Stiles. In truth, Stiles wasn't much in the mood to snoop and help with the case behind the scenes (and without his dad's permission). He had been working too hard on figuring his own shit out. Stiles didn't want to take any chances by immersing himself into a case that would bring back something that he would frankly like to keep in the past. So, he kept his nose out of business that was not his business. Besides, work at the police department had been quiet for the most part due to the fact that a plethora of supernatural creatures had no longer been drawn to Beacon Hills for three years.

And Sheriff Stilinski had taken note of his son's progress when he came home for summer break. The boy who was once on the verge of an emotional breakdown day and night had transformed (for the most part) into the Stiles he had once been-- obnoxious, yet endearing. He cracked jokes on his father's expense, drank from the milk carton, and burped in public far too often for his dad's liking. It was only a matter of time before he trusted Stiles to be home alone.  
However, when Stiles entered the kitchen in search for a snack or two, the thought that maybe he could break into his dad's liquor cabinet crossed his mind. He couldn't help it, really. The thought had crossed his mind so many times when he was at home that his father put a lock on the door. That didn't stop Stiles from discovering where the key was hidden several times after he first found it over Thanksgiving break back in sophomore year. He didn't understand why his father wouldn’t just get rid of the damn stuff altogether. It was kind of obvious that alcoholism was a running problem in the family.

Nevertheless, Stiles was able to brush the idea out of his mind before grabbing some cereal and pouring it into his mouth straight out of the box. More than a few pieces fell to the ground, and he made a mental note to clean them up before his dad got home. Stiles contemplated actually getting a bowl and eating like a normal human but decided against it. He plopped himself on the couch and began flipping through television channels.  
He had only been sitting for a few moments when something shifted in the air. Stiles shot up into a sitting position with a mouthful of cereal, some more pieces falling to the floor. He couldn't exactly pinpoint what it was, but he suddenly had a feeling of uncertainty that he couldn't shake. His thoughts raced, and he wondered if his paranoia was getting to him, as it sometimes did for no obvious reason. Stiles set the box of cereal down on the coffee table and looked around. Nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary, and he couldn't hear anything strange.

Stiles stood and continued to survey the house. Upon closer inspection of every room (Forget the basement. Stiles didn't _do_ basements.), he found that there was nothing that would raise any sort of alarm. This had happened to Stiles before, but his level of suspicion was at an all time high. He made his way back into the living room and sat on the couch again.

Placing his head in his hands, Stiles did what his therapist had told him to do time and time again when he started to feel uneasy. He began to count. 

"1... 2...3..." The feeling of uncertainty grew with each number. Stiles lifted his head and looked around the room as he counted. "4...5...6..."

All of a sudden, his counting was cut off by a rumbling noise from below the floor. Stiles wondered if the root of the problem actually was coming from the basement. In which case, there was no way in hell he was going to face whatever dragon-demon-monster was down there. But then the whole room started to shake. _An earthquake?_ Stiles grabbed the cushion beneath him as if it were to provide some sort of safety. He barely had time to register the situation before the shaking stopped. For a minute, he had to sit and breathe because no way in hell was he expecting an uneasy feeling to turn into a freaking earthquake. At least it wasn't all in his mind this time.

Once Stiles had caught his breath and come to some sort of conclusion about the situation, he took in his surroundings. Most of the living room was intact, aside from a pile of books that had fallen from the bookshelf in the corner. Nothing had really been broken in the momentary bout of chaos. He stood and made his way to the kitchen, hoping that his mom's dishes in the china cabinet hadn't been damaged. But upon close inspection, everything still looked remotely the same.

Stiles did notice, however, that the cereal he had spilled on the ground was no longer anywhere to be seen.

***

Scott watched as the mess of magnets and pictures that had fallen to the ground made their way back onto the refrigerator. He had experienced the same feeling years ago, just before the Dread Doctors made their appearance in Beacon Hills.

Earthquakes weren’t uncommon in California, but he had a really bad feeling about what just happened. The clock on the kitchen wall had faltered just as it did four years before, and the gradual darkness of night was quickly taken over by the sudden intrusion of storm clouds in the sky, removing what little light was left in his house.

Scott knew that this had all happened before, and as he continued to feel the supernatural electricity in the air, one thing appeared in his mind.

_Stiles._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Thanks for reading the first chapter. I am so excited that people are reading this, and I can't wait for what's going to happen in this story!

 

 

> 21 Days Ago:

“You’re sure this is all connected?” Scott asked. He stood in the same office he had stood in a thousand times before, seeking advice from the one person he knew would have some sort of answer.

“Absolutely certain,” Deaton replied.

The alpha werewolf stared at older man, wishing that there could have been some other explanation. But everything felt the same as it had four years earlier. There was something coming, and he knew that Stiles would not be ready for it.

“So, what do you think that means?” Scott grew increasingly worried. The older man shook his head.

“It could mean any number of things,” Deaton said. “But last time it wasn’t good. I’m just hoping for Stiles’ sake it doesn’t mean that the Dread Doctors are back.”

“It just doesn’t make any sense,” Scott said. “Why would the same exact thing happen after four years? The Dread Doctors are dead, aren’t they?”

“Do you remember what I told you about the regression of the mean?” Deaton asked. “It means that the scale can never stay balanced. I don’t know what’s to come, but the scale has to tip one way or the other. Which means that either things are going to get really good-”

“Or really bad.”

 

> Three Years Ago:

"You are probably wondering why we chose you, Stiles," the woman said. Her voice was smooth and soft, and Stiles didn't know how someone so ruthless could sound so calm. It was pretty creepy, actually. Through the fog of pain in his head, he looked as far upward as possible. Stiles in no way wanted to make eye contact with the creature standing before him. Being bound to an ancient tree and forced to have small talk with someone who was about to kill him was not what he would have liked to have on his wish-list of graduation gifts.

"Actually," he started, "I'm wondering when I'll be able to get the feeling back in my legs. They fell asleep like an hour ago." Even though he was about to become a sacrifice for Satan or whatever, Stiles still thought it would be an appropriate time to use sarcasm.

"We chose you because of who you are," the woman (or as Stiles liked to call her "The Witch Bitch") said without regard to Stiles' comment. "You are the best friend of the True Alpha. You are more loyal than any supernatural being. You have experienced more pain than the average person, even at such a young age. You have been thrown into the darkness more times than you would like to admit. And yet, you have somehow found a way to stay by Scott's side. But most importantly, you have the spark."

Stiles could feel his neck start to cramp through the strain of looking upward.

“The what?” The Witch Bitch laughed softly.

“You have no idea what you’re capable of, do you?” Stiles stared quizzically at the witch. He had no idea what she meant.  
  
"Why the hell are you telling me this?" He asked.

"If I were about to die the way you are about to die, I would want to know why, too," she said. The witch grabbed Stiles' jaw and forced him to look at her. A glance into her eyes was enough to make Stiles' skin crawl. They were bright purple, which did nothing to compliment the hideous gray hue of her cracked and scarred skin. The hair, if Stiles could even call it hair, on top of her head popped out of her scalp in random patches of coarse black strands. The lady looked older than his grandmother, and she had been dead for fifteen years. She smiled, and the rotten pieces of bone that Stiles guessed were teeth were enough to make him choke back vomit. "You are the gateway to a new world. Your death will be the gateway to hell."

In an instant, the witch pulled out a jeweled dagger from her robes and raised it in the air.

"Whoa!" Stiles shouted, his eyes growing wide. "Hey, lady. I don't really think that would be necessary." The witch tilted her head and surveyed Stiles up and down, which made him extremely uncomfortable. He did not enjoy being checked out by some old hag.

"Your death is entirely necessary," she exclaimed, holding the dagger in preparation of her first cut.

"NOPE!" Stiles shouted and, for some reason, The Witch Bitch hesitated once more. He got the feeling that she wasn't exactly the brightest marble in the bag. "Nah, I- I _really_ don't think you gotta. I mean, what are you gonna gain from doing this, huh? You think the Dread Doctors are actually gonna let you live once this is all over? Because their favorite past time is killing stuff. Well, actually, I guess that wouldn't really matter. You'd just go to hell and come back anyway because... the doors... to hell... will be-- Oh, shit."

"Enough!" The witch cried. She raised the dagger once more and sliced through Stiles' chest.

"Holy shit, lady!" He gasped at the pain, and fought back sudden tears. This would not be how he died. Scott and the pack would be there soon.

"I do apologize for how prolonged and painful this will be," The Witch Bitch said. Stiles looked to where blood began to seep into his white shirt.

"This is already pretty painful, lady," Stiles mumbled. "But I don't think it will be as prolonged as you think. You won't-- won't be able to finish the job." The witch sneered and slashed at a space on his forearm that wasn't covered in the thick rope she had conjured to bound him to the tree. He hissed in pain and forcefully attempted to break free. She slashed at his other arm. A new wave of pain traveled through his body.

Where the hell was Scott?

 

> 21 Days Ago:

Scott pushed his foot off the ground and sent himself spinning in Stiles' computer chair for the tenth time. He surveyed the walls of the room every time, and every time he couldn't help but think about how these walls had once been covered in pictures, newspaper articles, and a plethora of red yarn from cases that they had dealt with in high school. Now, all Scott saw on those walls were a couple of _Star Wars_ posters. The past few years had been far from normal but also served as the stepping stones into a much more normal life. He was mostly grateful that Stiles was becoming more and more like the Stiles he had been years ago. Scott wondered at times if the same memories still plagued his best friend and hoped that Stiles had not decided to keep that hidden away in his mind. It was never easy to help Stiles through a panic attack or watch as something as small as a picture in a textbook set him off. So, for the time being, Scott was happy that he could have a normal conversation with his best friend without worrying that Stiles might lose his mind.

But Scott wasn't so sure about the conversation he knew he should start. He stopped spinning and looked to where Stiles lay on his bed, flipping through a _Spider- Man_ comic. Stiles dramatically gasped or laughed periodically, which Scott couldn't help but grin at. But then he thought about what Deaton had said regarding the strange earthquake-time alteration the night before-- how everything eventually tips one way or the other. Scott's grin faltered. He had also thought a lot about whether to tell Stiles. Scott didn't want this information to upset him, but he figured he should stay on the safe side and tell the truth in case it becomes important in the near future. They need to be prepared for anything. He just hoped that they wouldn't be taking the plunge into the world of the supernatural once more, especially because of the progress that Stiles has made.

"Hey, Stiles," Scott said. Stiles still had his nose buried in the comic and didn't bother to look at Scott.

"Hmm," he replied. Scott took a deep breath.

"I need to talk to you about something," he said. "Something potentially serious."

"I'm listening," Stiles said. Scott wasn't so sure, though, because he could tell that Stiles was still intently reading. He stood from the chair and took the comic book from Stiles, placing it on the bedside table. Stiles made a very Stiles-esque face of disappointment and looked at his best friend.

"I'm _serious_ ," Scott said.

"Do I even want to know?" Stiles asked, sighing. His voice sounded exasperated, like he knew what was coming.

"Probably not," Scott said. He sat down on the edge of the bed and Stiles sat up. "But I'm telling you this just in case."

Stiles pursed his lips in expectation. "So, what is it?" He asked.

"You heard about the earthquake last night, right?" Stiles raised his eyebrows and smirked sarcastically.

"Heard about it? I felt it," he said. "I thought there was a freaking dragon in my basement." Scott gave Stiles a quizzical look. They had faced some pretty strange creatures in the past, but nothing as crazy as a dragon had ever been on that list.

"Well, I don't think it was an earthquake," Scott said.

"Not an earthquake?" Stiles mocked. "Well, then what the heck else could it have been? Because it pretty much felt like an earthquake to me.The news said it was an earthquake, and I believe the news."

"Well, I mean I guess it was. Sort of," Scott said. He tried to think of the best way to phrase what he was trying to say.

"Sort of?" Stiles mocked once more. "What do you mean by that?"

"The last time I felt something like that things got really weird," Scott said. He didn't like the way the color drained from Stiles' face.

"And by weird you mean... supernatural." It wasn't a question as much as it was a statement, and Scott took the initiative to fully explain.

He told Stiles about the refrigerator magnets and the hovering second hand and how the Dread Doctors appeared right after that same occurrence four years ago. He told him that he talked to Deaton, and how they both agreed that they should be on guard.

"That's what happened to the cereal," Stiles murmured.

"What?"

"Never mind," Stiles said, shaking his head. "So what are we supposed to do? Because quite honestly, I would like to just ignore it and pretend that nothing will happen at all." Scott understood why Stiles wouldn't want anything to do with the supernatural, especially because of their last real encounter with it.

"I know," Scott said. "But remember what I said back then about the regression of the mean? The scale has to tip one way or the other. You know that." Stiles nodded.

"And when it comes to us," he started, "the scale usually tips to _really bad_."

Stiles' eyes became distant. The last time the scale tipped to really bad, the Dread Doctors had recruited a cult of witches to open the gates of hell. If they couldn't create the perfect supernatural creature, then they were just going to summon one. Stiles had almost become a human sacrifice, and he had all of the scars and emotional trauma to prove it.

The two sat in silence for some time, and Scott knew that Stiles was contemplating what he just told him. He picked up his comic book, but this time Scott could tell that he was not going to read. He could no longer pay attention to the words on the page but instead on the thoughts that ran through his mind like wild-fire. Scott decided to let the matter drop.

After some time, Scott had become bored and started spinning in the chair again. Stiles was meaninglessly flipping through the pages of his comic. That was when the door bell rang.

***

Stiles was grateful for some sort of distraction from his thoughts, even if just for a moment. He ran down the stairs, Scott following behind, and opened the door just after a second ring ran through the house. Maybe it was Girl Scout cookie selling season. _That would be awesome_ , Stiles thought. He just hoped that some political knuckle head or religious doofus wasn't at the door selling him something that couldn't be eaten.

Stiles, however, was not expecting to see a certain strawberry-blond to be standing on the other side of the threshold.

"Lydia!" Scott exclaimed. He pushed past a confused Stiles and wrapped his old friend into a tight hug. "It's great to see you! Wow, sorry. I didn't realize how much I'd missed you until now." Scott laughed, Lydia beamed, and Stiles awkwardly chuckled in the background.

Lydia turned to Stiles, and her smile grew brighter. That damn smile. That smile was enough to make Stiles forget about whatever supernatural hub-bub Scott had going on in his brain. Lydia freaking Martin was standing in front of him, and that was enough for now.

"Hi, Stiles," she said.

"Lydia, it's so good to see you," Stiles said. The two of them didn't move, though, and Scott looked from Stiles to Lydia then back to Stiles in confusion.

"Well, hug already!" Lydia laughed and ran into Stiles' arms. He was hesitant at first but quickly accepted the fact that she was there. That she was really there. And it seemed as though neither of them wanted to let go. Stiles certainly didn't. He had waited three years for this moment. How could he let go?

 

> Three Years Ago:

“Alright, does everybody understand the plan?” Scott asked. He looked around at his friends--his pack-- as they stood around his dining room table. A topographical map of the Beacon Hills Forest lay before them, and they all had looks of determination marked across their faces. Except for Stiles. His expression displayed more apprehension than determination.

“Yeah, I got it. I’m gonna walk right into the crazy witch cult’s trap. I’m gonna stall while you guys deal with the dread doctors. And I’m going to hopefully... not die,” he said. The team had come up with some crazy plans in the past, but this was by far the most insane. They had never intentionally handed over a member of the pack in order to get the job done, and they all knew that Stiles had a point. But they had no other choice. The nemeton was surrounded, and the only way to get to it was to hand over the thing that the Dread Doctors wanted the most: Stiles.

Scott looked intensely at his best friend. “We can do this, Stiles,” he said. “I know we can. We’re not going to let you get hurt. We’ve got Argent helping us. Derek’s going to be on the perimeter, too. We can do this.”

Stiles nodded, still unsure of the plan. He suddenly felt warm, soft fingers wrap around his hand, and he looked to where Lydia smiled reassuringly next to him. “We won’t let anything happen to you, Stiles,” she said. Somehow, her words were comforting, and Stiles could feel himself begin to calm down. In a way that he could not explain, Lydia was all he needed to know that he would make it out of this alive. That all of them would.

 

 

> 21 Days Ago:

Stiles ran back and forth from the kitchen to the living room, placing snacks on the coffee table. He hadn’t realized until then just how ill-equipped his house was for entertaining guests. So far, he had managed to scramble together a container of almost-empty Oreos, some incredibly ripe bananas, and a packet of fruit snacks.

Stopping to catch his breath, Stiles looked at the pathetic pile of food and then to Lydia, who he had directed to sit on the couch. “Uh, drinks. What do we want to drink?” He asked. “Lydia, are you thirsty? We have water and water... oh, we have milk! And whiskey. Do you like whiskey?” Lydia looked to Scott and the two of them laughed.

“I’ll just have water,” she said. “Thanks, Stiles.” He smiled and gestured to Scott, who stood by the kitchen doorway.

“I’ll have the whiskey,” he said.

“Alright, two waters it is,” Stiles said. “My dad would honestly throw me out the window if I cracked open the whiskey...again.” He walked past Scott to get back into the kitchen and grabbed a few glasses for water. As he was filling them up at the sink, he could hear Lydia and Scott laughing again.

“You should come by more often,” Scott said. “He never treats me this well.”

“I might just have to take you up on that,” Lydia said. Stiles couldn’t stop smiling at the fact that Lydia Martin, the girl he had had a crush on since the third grade, was freaking sitting on his couch.

He made his way back into the living room with the waters and handed two of them to his friends. Lydia raised hers into the air.

“To being reunited with my favorite dorks,” she said. Scott and Stiles followed suit and the three of them drank. Stiles stared at Lydia with a goofy grin.

“Oh, help yourself to some snacks!” He exclaimed. Lydia looked at the measly pile that Stiles had gathered and pulled out her phone.

“I’ll call for pizza,” she said.

“Great idea,” Scott agreed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed!
> 
> **I think that it's important to note that this story takes place in a universe where the all of the events that involve Eichen House and saving Lydia in 5B still happened. However, the events around the Beast of Gevaudan did not happen. Hope that's not too confusing!**
> 
> Also, I thought it would be a good idea to link you guys to this video. I think that it's a great character study of Stiles, and I've been pulling a lot of the themes from it into this story as I continue to write later chapters. So, you can check it out if you want!  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=99u_t2CzmKI


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who has been reading so far! So, I don't know if I'm just crazy or what, but I swear that the show has been implying that Liam and Mason are step-brothers, but I can't actually find evidence of that on the internet. For the purposes of this story, they are indeed step-brothers. Just thought I'd let you know so that no one is confused! 
> 
> Enjoy!

 

 

> Two years ago:

"Stiles?"  
  
Stiles stared into the drain of the sink, unable to move and unable to care. A knock echoed throughout the small bathroom, but he ignored it.

"Stiles, are you alright?" Numb fingers grabbed at the marble ends of the sink, and nothing could stop the overflow of tears as they escaped the broken boy's eyes and blended into the flood of water that rushed from the faucet. "Stiles, please talk to me."

The sheriff's voice was slightly muffled through the sound of the running faucet, and Stiles wished that his dad would just leave him alone.

In all truth, he wished that everyone would just leave him alone and stop fucking asking if he was alright. Of course he wasn't alright. They didn't even have to ask. How could he ever be alright? He was covered in scars and haunted by countless memories of the darkness that plagued his mind. He had made a fool of himself on numerous occasions-- public panic attacks and screaming until his throat burned with the taste of blood didn't exactly make him many friends.  
  
Stiles just wished that everyone would leave him alone.  
  
"Son, open the door." Momentarily, his grip on the sink grew stronger. The white skin of his knuckles stretched and threatened to tear apart at the force. On top of the ever-growing feeling of panic that rose in his chest, an insurmountable amount of anger rushed through Stiles' body.

 _Please go way. Please go away, please go away pleasegoawayplease-_ "Stiles!"  
  
"Just go away, alright!" Stiles shouted at the door. He waved an angry hand through the air and had just enough sense to stop himself before hitting the wall or the mirror... or himself. "Go the hell away!"  
  
He froze, awaiting whatever answer or attempt at consolation his dad had come up with. But all Stiles heard, aside from the water that continued to run, was the sound of silence. He wondered when his father had given up on trying to get through to him.

And then Stiles realized that maybe he didn't want to be alone, after all.

 

 

 

> 20 Days Ago:

Stiles stared into the mirror and took a deep breath. A knock echoed throughout the small bathroom, and he turned to see his dad standing in the doorway.  
  
"Son," he started, "you alright?" Stiles stared into the sink for a moment and smiled despite himself.

"Yeah," he replied. "Yeah, I'm good. Really good, actually."  
  
There was a light in Sheriff Stilinski's eyes that Stiles had not seen in a long time.  
"She's a really special girl. I'm glad you two are talking again."

Stiles had told his father all about the events of the day before as soon as he had gotten home from work. He told him about how Lydia had shown up and how he and Scott got the chance to catch up with her. He told his father about all of the research that Lydia had been doing with mathematics at Stanford. He told him how she had been teaching herself how to become the most bad-ass banshee ever. Stiles told him every last detail.  
  
“I’m really glad we’re talking again, too,” Stiles said.  
  
“What are the two of you planning on doing tonight?” The sheriff asked. Stiles couldn’t help the ridiculous grin that ran across his face.  
  
“Lydia told me about a month ago that she’s always wanted to go swing dancing. There’s a place just outside of town, so I’m gonna take her there,” Stiles said proudly. The sheriff laughed.  
  
“My son, the real prince charming,” he said. “The real prince charming who dances like he has two broken legs.”  
  
“Hey, I’m sure I won’t be that bad!” Stiles said defensively. The sheriff smiled.  
  
“Have fun tonight,” he said.  
  
He turned to leave, but Stiles stopped him.  
  
"Wait, dad," he said. The sheriff looked to his son expectantly. There had been numerous times since Stiles got home for the break that he had wanted to really talk to his dad. Too many conversations had been had in the last few years that were full of pain, and Stiles hoped to look past that. If only for a little while. "Just... uh. Thank you."  
  
A puzzled look crossed his dad's face. "For what?"  
  
"Everything." There was no simple way to put into words how grateful Stiles was for his dad. Even through Stiles' worst times, his father had been there. Even when he didn't think he was.  
  
Suddenly, Stiles rushed forward and grabbed his dad into a hug, and he noticed that the hug was no longer as tense as it had been so many times before. It was full of relief and the hope that things were actually getting better. They pulled apart, and Sheriff Stilinski placed a hand on his son's shoulder.  
  
"Just have fun tonight," he said. Stiles displayed his best sideways grin. "Oh, and tell Lydia that I said hello."

 

***

  
“Aren’t you supposed to have super human hearing? I called for you four times,” Melissa McCall said. Scott removed his headphones and smiled sheepishly at his mom. She stood in the doorway of his bedroom, holding a small cardboard package.  
  
Scott had spent the better part of the day with Stiles, as per usual. Actually, it seemed as though the two had become more inseparable than they had been in high school, and Scott couldn’t decide if he thought that was sad or not. Either way, Stiles was his brother, and he wouldn’t have had it any other way.  
  
Earlier that afternoon, they had decided to head to the high school lacrosse field to practice a little for old time’s sake.  
  
_“So,” Scott said as he passed the ball to Stiles. “You’re hanging out with Lydia tonight.” Stiles awkwardly reached his stick into the air, and the ball narrowly missed his net. He chased after it and passed it back clumsily. He had never really been good at lacrosse, but whatever skill he had for the sport seemed to have dissipated over the years._  
  
_“Yep,” Stiles replied, readying himself to catch the next toss. “We’re going dancing.” Just as Scott was about to pass the ball, he faltered and laughed loudly. The ball fell from his stick to the ground._  
  
_“Dancing?” Scott asked incredulously. He picked up the ball and passed it to Stiles. “You can’t dance, though.” Stiles dove and just missed catching the ball._

_“Hey, you never know,” he said. “Maybe I’m like super awesome at it now.”_

_Scott shook his head and caught Stiles’ pass with ease._

Normally, Scott and Stiles would grab a bite to eat, but Stiles dropped Scott off at his house so that he could get ready for his, as Stiles had put it, “not a date, but I’m gonna pretend it is anyway.” As soon as Scott returned home, he made his way to his room and crashed on his bed, his nose buried in a book and music blasting in his ears.  
  
“Sorry, mom,” he said, sitting up. He figured she had just come home from a long shift, and he could read on her face just how exhausted she was. “What’s up?”  
  
Melissa held up the small package. “This was on the porch for you,” she said, tossing the package to Scott. He examined the small box, rotating it with his fingers.  
  
“Who’s it from?” He asked.  
  
“Not sure,” Melissa responded. “It doesn’t have a return address on it.”  
  
“Thanks for bringing it up to me, mom,” Scott said. She nodded and disappeared down the hallway.  
  
Scott tore the box open and found a thumb drive wrapped in layers of bubble wrap. He held the small, silver object between his thumb and his forefinger, unsure what to make of it. He hopped off of his bed and sat at his desk, connecting the thumb drive with his laptop. Upon opening the folder, he found two files: a word document and what seemed to be a sound recording. He clicked on the word document, and a wave of confusion washed over him at what appeared before him. It was a list, but not just any list. It was a list in the same format of a series of lists that he had almost forgotten.

  
  
                                  ~~Gabriel Belasko~~ **F**  
                                  ~~Lucas Miller~~ **F**  
                                  ~~Zach Lawrence~~ **F**  
                                  ~~Noah Patrick~~ **F**  
                                  ~~Tracy Stewart~~ **F**  
                                  ~~Donovan Donati~~ **F**  
                                  ~~Cory Bryant~~ **F**  
                                  ~~Josh Diaz~~ **F**  
                                  ~~Hayden Romero~~ **F**  
                                  ~~Noah Patrick~~ **F**  
                                  ~~Theo Raeken~~ **F**

 

Scott’s face drained of color at the sight of the words on the page. Months before the Dread Doctors arrived in Beacon Hills, the pack had dealt with a dead pool. The dead pool had been a list of supernatural creatures in Beacon Hills, and Scott and his pack Scott couldn’t help but make the connection between this list and a list that his own name had been on once before. But this one was different because there were no numbers. This time, all of the names on the list were the names of dead chimeras. They were the failures of the Dread Doctors insane science experiments.

But Scott couldn’t keep his eyes from staring at the last name on the list. It read:

  
                                   Stiles Stilinski **S**

  
  
Scott felt his blood run cold. He had no idea what this list meant or where it came from. And he had a terrible feeling that the scale was about to tip to really bad.

He minimized the word document and surveyed the sound recording. Hesitantly, he clicked on the file. A voice he hoped he would never hear again poured from his speakers and poisoned the surrounding air.

 _Stiles... Stiles...Stiles Stilinski... We have found our success. Success is imminent._  
  
Scott pulled out his phone and called the first person he could think of.

 

 

 

> One Year Ago:

Stiles had been standing under the running water for far longer than he should have been. He knew that. But he couldn't be cared to leave and face the world (Well, actually Scott. Who the hell else would he see?). So he just stood there, one arm outstretched to the wall to hold him steady. Stiles had a constant feeling that he might collapse, and he wasn't sure if that was a side effect of almost dying or because he hadn't eaten properly since... well, he couldn't really remember.  
  
He told himself just a few more minutes. He would leave in a few minutes. The hot water that brushed against his skin was comforting, especially because he had so much trouble staying warm.

But then the water ran ice cold, and Stiles' heart jumped in his chest. He blinked through the pain, and his breath hitched in his throat. He frantically reached to turn the shower off, but his mind had other plans. The world turned a bright white, and suddenly he was no longer standing in a dorm shower.  
  
Instead, Stiles was standing inside the white tiled room that he had been in two times before. Once when he needed to find his dad. And another time when he was kept prisoner by the nogitsune in his own mind.  
  
The clothes he wore were dripping with water, just like the first time he had been there. Memories flooded back into his mind, and he couldn't stop the uneven breaths that entered and painfully exited his body. He remembered searching frantically through the forest in search of his father. He remembered sitting on the nemeton, playing a game that he was sure he would not win with an evil spirit.  
  
_We're going to kill them, Stiles. We're going to kill all of them._  
  
The nogitsune's voice echoed throughout Stiles' head, and he felt himself drop to his knees, covering his ears and shutting his eyes forcefully in an attempt to shut the demon out.  
  
_Open your eyes, Stiles. Look at what I brought for you. Look, Stiles!_  
  
Hot tears ran down his face, and he screamed in an effort to make it stop.  
  
_Stiles, look at it. Look at it. LOOK AT IT!_  
  
Stiles' felt his throat grow raw through the shouting, but he opened his eyes anyway. He just wanted the voice to go away.  
  
But then he stopped shouting at the sight in front of him. In the stark white floor a couple feet away from him was a large black crack. The jagged lines reminded Stiles of one of the many scars that ran across his body, and he had no idea what to make of it.  
  
_What is it, Stiles?_  
  
"I don't know."  
  
_What is it, Stiles?!_  
  
"I told you, I don't know!"  
  
_That's because you aren't really looking, Stiles._  
  
Stiles crawled toward the crack and looked into it. An uneasy feeling washed over his body at this closer view.There was a depth to it that Stiles could not understand. He was sure if he dropped something into the crack it would just fall forever. And what seemed like miles below, something glowed an angry red.  
  
_You know what it is, Stiles. What is it?_  
  
Stiles shot backwards and fell onto his butt. "Leave me alone!"  
  
_I can't leave you alone. I am you, and you are me. This is you, Stiles._  
  
"This isn't me!"  
  
_This is you!_  
  
"NO, SHUT UP!"  
  
_Wake up, Stiles._  
  
"W- What?"  
  
_STILES, WAKE UP!_  
  
And just as fast as it appeared, the white room was gone. Stiles found himself sitting in the corner of the shower stall, Scott hovering over him with a towel.  
  
"Stiles, come on, man. Let's get you to bed," he said, offering Stiles the towel.

 

 

 

> 20 Days Ago:

  
“Hello?” Liam asked into his phone. He held the phone to his ear with his shoulder, his attention still mostly glued to the television screen as he madly pressed buttons on his controller. “Uh, what’s up?”  
  
Liam couldn’t pretend that he wasn’t a little surprised that his alpha was calling him. He hadn’t talked him for months, and he wondered why Scott had suddenly decided to reach out. Not that it really mattered to Liam; his life had been much easier without all of the supernatural drama accompanied with being a werewolf.  
  
“Who are you talking to, dude?” Mason asked from where he sat beside Liam. The two lounged across their living room couch, playing video games. Their parents were still at work, which meant that the two step-brothers had full reign to do whatever the heck they felt like doing.

“Liam, I need to talk to you,” Liam heard Scott say through the receiver. “It’s kind of important.” Liam wanted to roll his eyes, but he had to think fast before a ball of fire through his brain. Dramatically, Liam leaned to the side, as if that would help his chances of getting out of fake-danger.

“You know,” Liam said distractedly, “this isn’t really a great-- Dude, what the hell? What the _actual hell? I am on your team.”_ Liam took the initiative to kick Mason in the shin. Mason hissed painfully, knowing full-well that he knew that he had made a huge knuckle-head mistake.

“Ah crap, I am so sorry,” Mason said. He desperately hit the same button over and over as he tried to run away as fast as he could from the flowing lava that he had just pushed Liam into. “You talking to Scott?”

Liam, realizing that he had run out of lives, put down his controller so that he could reposition his phone.

“Scott, what is it? I’m kinda busy,” Liam said. An exasperated sigh sounded from the other end of the line.

“Yeah, you’re really busy playing Volcano of Death,” Scott said sarcastically. Liam sometimes forgot that super-human hearing also worked across the phone. “I’m serious, Liam. This is important. It’s about Stiles.” This caught Liam’s attention. Even though Scott hadn’t exactly been the best alpha in the past, and they hadn’t exactly spoken in a while, Liam continued to wonder how Stiles was doing.

“Is something wrong with Stiles?” Liam asked. Mason had seemed to have forgotten about the phone call all together. His focus was on the television screen. Tongue biting anticipation washed over his face as he battled a lava demon. Liam shook his head, slightly angry that he was out of the game, and made his way to the kitchen where he could talk to Scott privately.

“Well, not really,” Scott said hesitantly. “Not yet, I guess?”

“Not yet,” Liam echoed. “What the heck is that supposed to mean? Look, Scott, I care about Stiles, I really do, but what is this really about?”

“I just think that things are about to get bad again,” Scott said. Liam felt a pit form in his stomach. Those were words he did not want to hear.

“You mean with Stiles?” Liam asked. He shook his head again. “Why are you telling me this? Why do you need me? Because obviously you haven’t needed me for a really long time.”

“I know. I know, Liam. And I’m really sorry because I can’t take back the fact that I suck at being a friend, but I need someone to help me right now,” Scott said. “I understand if you’re angry with me. I understand if you hate me. But, right now, you’re the only person that might know how to help me.”

Liam was silent for a moment. Yeah, he was angry. Yeah, he wanted to hate Scott. Hell, he had had so much pent up anger over the past four years at the alpha, but the fact that Scott had completely cut ties with his beta drove Liam over the edge. He knew that Scott had been taking care of Stiles, but Liam couldn’t understand why he had to be left behind because of that. Between the few interactions and lack of communication after Scott had graduated, Liam felt as though he hardly knew the older werewolf anymore.

“What do you need?” Liam asked as Mason proudly shouted in celebration from the living room.

“Do you remember the dead pool?” Scott asked. Liam froze.

“You mean the one that had all of our names on it and none of you did anything to help me stop freaking out because I thought I might be killed by a crazy ax- wielding murderer at any time? That dead pool?”

“Yeah, that dead pool.”

“What about it?”

“Well,” Scott started. “I think that someone made another one. But this time, the only person left on the list is Stiles.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that you guys enjoyed this chapter! (I can't wait until things get really evil.. mwahaha. *cough* I mean, don't worry. I'm sure everything will be fine.) :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long since I've posted! Finals and graduation were crazy, but now that that's over I can finally continue with this story. Hope this chapter makes up for the long wait!

 

> **Three Years Ago:**

Scott gently lowered his friend into a sitting position and leaned him against the base of the tree. He grimaced at the amount of blood that had scattered across the ground. Between Stiles' physical state and the surrounding area, little was left to the imagination. Stiles had been tortured, and Scott should have been there earlier to save him. He felt a shiver run through his spine at the very idea of how much pain Stiles must have been feeling. Scott took one of Stiles' bloody hands, and streams of his best friend’s pain ran through Scott's veins. He wrapped his free arm around his friend's waist in order to help him to stay in an upright position.

Stiles' head rolled around limply, but his eyes remained trained on his best friend. Even in the darkness, Scott could tell that the other boy’s skin had turned a sickly gray that mimicked that of the cult of witches. He watched as the tears that Stiles had no doubt been holding back for the sake of appearing strong began to roll down his cheeks. Scott felt his heart break a million times over when he felt the hand he held pull back, but he refused to let go.

"Sc- Scott, stop. Please, just stop," Stiles pleaded. "Please, make it stop." Scott nodded furiously.

"I'm trying, Stiles. I'm trying," Scott said. "You just have to let me help you." Stiles tried to pull away once more, but was too weak to do anything more than lightly tug his bloodied hand loosely in Scott's grip.

"No. N-no, stop," Stiles sobbed. "Please, jus- just let me go. Let- let me go, Scott." Blood pooled across Stiles' lips and dribbled down his chin through the force of speaking. Scott removed his hand from Stiles' and placed it on his bruised cheek. He felt the never-ending flow of pain enter his veins once more.

 _"Absolutely not_ ," he said with so much force that he felt Stiles wince slightly under his grip. He mentally cursed himself for doing more damage. "Stiles, I am not going to let you die." Stiles continued to cry, his face contorting beneath Scott's touch. For a moment, Stiles' breath became hitched and a silent sob threatened to escape his throat. The world around them became silent, and Scott pushed back the idea that somehow the nemeton needed to be destroyed if... he didn't want to think about it.

Maybe the pack was there, unable to do anything more than stand and watch. The night was uncomfortably warm, and Scott felt himself sweating at the heat and the worry that his best friend was dying. Stiles, however, shivered under his grip, and he wondered if he was feeling any sort of relief from the pain.

But then Stiles relaxed a bit, and a look of almost-peace ran across his face. He reached a battered hand out and wrapped unsteady fingers around Scott's neck.

"It hurts so much," Stiles said with more composure. "Make it stop. Please, Scotty. Please, kill me. That's all I ask.... That's all I ask." Scott shook his head and felt warm tears run down his face. He continued to pull the pain away from Stiles, but the pain was like an ocean. Vast and full of layers that Scott could not understand.

"No," Scott said. His response came out broken and soft, and he wasn't even sure he had said it out loud at all. "I'm not losing you. If I lose you, then where will I be, huh? I'll be nothing. I _need_ you, Stiles. You hear me? _I need you_."

  
Stiles let his hand drop to the ground, and the sudden action sent Scott into a state of panic. His best friend stopped making eye contact, instead staring into some unknown part of the forest in the distance.

"Stiles, please," he pleaded. "Please, don't do this." Time was running out. He knew it was. But he didn't care. If Stiles was gone, what did he really have to care about? In his mind, a world without Stiles Stilinski was a world that he would gladly watch rot in hell.

"Scott!" Liam ran to the base of the tree. "Scott, you gotta get him out of here. Parrish is coming."

Scott didn't want to move. Instead, he continued to watch the life drain from Stiles. The pain that ran through Stiles' body and into Scott's veins slowed down, and Scott knew he was about to face the inevitability that his best friend would soon be dead.

"Hey, are you listening to me?!" Liam shouted. "Get the hell out of here!"

Still, Scott could not move.

"Fine. If that's gonna be how it is..." Liam made a motion to pick up Stiles, but Scott growled at the beta. "Malia, get Scott!" In an instant, Scott felt himself being dragged backwards and watched as Liam picked up Stiles in his arms, running as far away from the base of the tree as possible. Scott tried to loosen the grip that Malia had on the back of his shirt as she dragged him across the earth, but she was relentless.

Through the dark of the night, Parrish walked toward the nemeton. His skin glowed like a thousand suns, lighting up the forest that surrounded him. He placed his hands on the trunk of the nemeton, and the light grew even brighter. Malia finally stopped dragging Scott in just enough time to cover her eyes, Scott shielding his own face. He felt a rush of energy flow through the ground,the forest floor shook violently, and then the light was gone.

Scott uncovered his eyes and saw Parrish, but there was no longer a giant tree. That wasn't exactly his concern, though. He turned to where Liam crouched in the dirt, hovering over a badly injured Stiles. He was just getting off the ground to be by his friend's side once more...  
  
when the scream of a banshee rang through the air.

 

 

> **Nineteen Days Ago:**

  
“You just stepped on my toes!” Lydia shouted, laughter escaping her pink lips. Stiles looked down at their feet, doing the best he could to pay attention to the instructor and not injure his dance partner at the same time. He hated to admit it, but his dad was right. Dancing was not his thing. But that didn’t stop him from having the time of his life with Lydia.

“Sorry! I’ve never gone swing dancing before!” Lydia smiled mischievously.

“Well, neither have I,” she said. She bounced to the beat of the band, her skirt flowed as she moved back and forth.  
  
Stiles tripped over his own feet and quickly steadied himself. “I will get the hang of this!” Lydia stopped dancing and started guiding Stiles to the side of the dance floor.  
  
“Time to switch partners!” The instructor announced through his microphone. Stiles’ eyes almost popped out of his eyes. If he was embarrassed in front of Lydia, then he would not be able to handle the excruciating awkwardness of dancing with another person.

“I think we should take a water break,” she said. “You’re sweating like a pig.” Stiles smiled sheepishly and released a relieved breath. He honestly wasn’t sure if the sweat was because of the dancing or because he was dancing with Lydia. Or both.  
  
“Whatever you say, Lyds,” Stiles said, gladly allowing himself to be pulled to the sidelines.

*******

Liam stared at the printed copy of the newly found dead pool that lay on Scott’s coffee table. They had listened to the sound recording at least five times, and Liam was starting to get frustrated.

“What the hell is this supposed to mean?” He asked incredulously. “Obviously, all of these people are dead. We know that already.” He shifted uncomfortably in his seat at the sight of Hayden’s crossed out name. Anger began to grow in his chest at the thought that Scott could have saved her. He could have, but he chose not to.  
  
Liam felt an elbow jab him in the ribs, and he glanced up at an innocent- looking Mason. He shook his head slightly as if to say, _Dude, not now._

“Yeah, we do know that,” Scott said. “And the Dread Doctors are supposed to be gone, but I have no idea why this list is appearing now. Or who sent it to me.”

“The Dread Doctors were looking for their success, right?” Mason asked. “They couldn’t make one, so they wanted to just, like, conjure one from the depths of hell. They needed Stiles to do that. He was the sacrifice. But this is telling us that Stiles was actually the success. How can that be possible? Isn’t Stiles human?”

Scott shook his head in uncertainty. “That’s what we need to figure out,” he said. “That night three years ago, something happened to Stiles. He- he died. I felt it. Lydia felt it.”

Liam let go of enough of the built up tension he felt within him to add, “So did I.”

“Wait, what?” Mason asked, bouncing with surprise on the McCall’s couch. “He died? I mean, I heard Lydia scream, but I thought that was because of a weird connection thing they had going on.”

Liam suddenly became very worried. It had been so long that he thought the once could-be problem was no longer a problem at all.

“He was dead for far longer than anybody-- any human-- should have been. By the time I took him from Scott he had lost way too much blood, and he wasn’t breathing,” Liam said.

Scott sighed. “The hospital almost didn’t do anything. He had been dead for at least twenty minutes by the time we got past the witches and Dread Doctors. My mom had to pull some strings because I refused to take no as an answer,” he said. “Stiles has dealt with so much over the past three years, and it hasn’t just been a severe case of PTSD.”

 

 

> **One Year Ago:**

The sound of crashing filled his senses, and he couldn’t tell if it was the glass that shattered or his mind. Everything was spinning, spinning... Stiles felt himself sliding to the ground. The now scattered glass on the floor pierced the palm of the hand he used to steady himself into a sitting position.

His mind was clouded with thoughts that he wished would disappear with the whiskey that he poured down his throat. He wished that he could just stop fucking existing. He wanted nothing more than to stop feeling.

_Don’t worry, Stiles. You aren’t alone._

Stiles was too numb to make any attempt to drive the demon from his head. Tears poured from his eyes and down his face, finally mixing with droplets of blood as they hit the floor.

_I am always here, Stiles. We are always here._

“Why... what are you doing?” Stiles slurred into the quiet air. There was no one around. His only company was the voice of the nogitsune as it tore through his mind. “Wh- what do... do you want?”

_I want you to kill them, Stiles._

Hot tears streamed faster down his cheeks, and he clenched his eyes shut to stop the room from spinning.

“Wh-Why?” Stiles sputtered, his lips trembling.

_Because they tried to kill you._

 

 

> **Nineteen Days Ago:**  

  
The windows were rolled down. They were laughing into the wind. Stiles couldn’t remember the last time he felt so comfortable with being alive. They raced down a street surrounded by woods, and Stiles knew that he would be so dead if his dead knew how fast he was driving. But he didn’t care. He couldn’t care. A long night of dancing (or attempting to dance) was over. He was with Lydia. She was smiling. That was all he needed.

He heard a voice fill the air, and looked to the passenger seat. Lydia’s words were swept into the wind, and she laughed even harder, despite herself. Stiles slowed down the jeep, laughing harder, as well.

“What was that you said, good lady?” Stiles said in a mock British accent, rolling up his window a bit to help with the noise. The sound of the wind subsided, and Lydia pushed strands of wind-swept hair out of her face.

“I said, good sir,” Lydia started, mimicking the false accent, “that I really missed this. I missed hanging out with you. Well, you know, when we weren’t getting our butts kicked by every supernatural creature in existence.”

Stiles chuckled lightly, but something flashed through his mind. Flickers of memories that he would rather forget. “Yeah, I really missed hanging out with you too, Lyds.” Stiles’ hand was resting on the center console, and Lydia took the initiative to wrap her own fingers around his. Stiles couldn’t stop the incredibly goofy grin and red hue that he was sure had washed over his face.

Stiles made the next left and found comfort in the silence that took over the car ride. He drove on for a few moments before Lydia once again spoke up.

“Hey, where exactly are we going?” She asked.

“I want to check something out,” Stiles responded without missing a beat.

“Is this... like, some sort of surprise?” Stiles nodded, not really thinking about their destination. Lydia dropped the subject and stared out the passenger side window and into the forest that surrounded them.

A few minutes passed, and Stiles pulled onto the side of the road. He quickly got out of the jeep and made his way into the forest. Lydia followed suit.

"Stiles, where are we going?" Lydia called. She jogged a few steps to catch up with her friend. Stiles’ attention was caught by something invisible, something that Lydia could not see. Stiles rushed into the sea of trees, and Lydia guessed that this was no surprise.

Stiles ignored Lydia’s question. "Do you hear that?" He asked. Stiles continued to walk through the dense forest, a feeling of knowing and uncontrollable fear crashing down. _We're waiting, Stiles. We're waiting for you._

He picked up his pace, the voices getting louder. _Come on, Stiles. We’re waiting!_ He walked and walked and walked until...

He stopped in his tracks, and Lydia almost tripped at the sudden halt. Just feet in front of them was a large crack in the dirt, almost like a scar that had molded into the earth. Lydia looked from the crack to Stiles, who stood stock still. The voices in his head had stopped. This was his destination.

"Stiles," Lydia warned. "Stiles, let's go."

"How did I get here?" He asked. He abruptly turned on Lydia, a wild look in his eyes. "How did I know to come here, Lydia?!" Lydia took a few steps back at the ferocity of Stiles' voice.

He had seen this before. This very same crack appeared in a vision he had once.

"I have no idea," she said. "But I don't think we should be here. Come on, we're going back to the jeep." She hesitantly moved forward to grab her friend's hand but before she could, Stiles was on the ground examining the crack.

"This isn't right," he noted. "This should not be here." He rubbed a shaking hand across his face, realizing that his breath was starting to come in and out in awkward intervals.

"Scott," he heard Lydia say behind her. "Scott, we're in the woods. You need to get over here." Stiles turned to look at her.

"You called Scott to take care of me?" He accused. Lydia placed her phone back into her bag and shook her head. There had been too many times in the past that Scott had had to come to Stiles’ rescue, and he was not about to let this become one of those times that Stiles lost control. "This isn't me being crazy, Lydia!"

He was not crazy. This was not just something he was making up. Stiles refused to believe that this was only in his head. He looked around the dark forest frantically, rubbing his face with the palm of his hand and breathing heavily. He began to pace, unsure of what else he could do. If this was an episode he was having, then he certainly did not want to look at Lydia. He hated knowing that she saw him like this. In mid-stride, a small hand took hold of his shoulder, and Stiles turned to look at the girl with strawberry-blond hair.

"I know, Stiles," Lydia said. "You’re not crazy. That's why I called Scott. I think he can help."

“You- you can see it, too?” Stiles asked.

“I can see it. I can feel it.” Lydia looked with wide-eyes to Stiles. “And it’s not a good feeling.”

Stiles suddenly felt something shift. He grew incredibly uncomfortable, and the cool air of the forest had turned boiling hot. He ripped his jacket off and threw it to the ground.

_Look at it again, Stiles. What is it?_

The nogitsune’s voice taunted the back of his mind. He pulled at his skin madly, wishing more than anything to be free of his body-- of that voice.

_LOOK AT IT!_

He looked to the ground, and a wave of dizziness ran through him. He could feel an energy that he had never felt before pull him toward the crack in the ground. He crept closer to it, once more, surveying every inch of the strange image in front of him.

“Stiles, what’s wrong?” Lydia pleaded. “What’s going on in your head?”

He turned to Lydia so fast, she nearly tripped in her attempt to back away. "You're nervous, aren't you?"

Realization washed over her face as the memory of being trapped by the nogitsune filled her mind.

"Stiles?" She held up an arm to try to shield herself if Stiles were to come closer to her. "What's going on?"

“I think you know,” Stiles said. Menace dripped from his tongue. He couldn’t understand it, but something had changed within him. But it was still him. There was no nogitsune.

 _This is me_ , Stiles thought.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Lydia said. Stiles swiftly took a step forward, grabbed Lydia’s arm, and twisted her around into a choke-hold.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” he whispered into her ear. “That’s why you came back. You knew what was going to happen.”

“Stiles, please,” Lydia cried through constricted gasps.

 _Do it._ The voice bled into his thoughts, urging him to succumb to the darkness. _Kill her._

Stiles shook his head. Through the chaos of his mind, he suddenly realized what he was doing. He let go of Lydia before he could do any more damage and stared down into his hands. Lydia jogged a few yards before turning back to Stiles. She looked at him with fear and confusion. But even worse, she looked at him with pity.

“Lydia, I am so sorry,” Stiles pleaded. “I have no idea wha-”

And, in an instant, the world went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... what did you think?

**Author's Note:**

> I'll be adding a new chapter every week!


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